


True Value

by Kayim



Category: Leverage, The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot's never been one for Christmas.  After all, in the last five years, he's spent two of the Christmas Days in foreign prisons, one in a domestic prison and all five of them alone.  </p><p>But this year is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Value

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HiltonKask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiltonKask/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, babe. Hope you like xx

Eliot's never been one for Christmas. After all, in the last five years, he's spent two of the Christmas Days in foreign prisons, one in a domestic prison and all five of them alone. 

But this year is different. He has a team, friends, who have invited themselves around for Christmas dinner. Sophie brought wine (he doesn't think three bottles will be enough, if he's honest, but he's sure he has a couple in the cupboard somewhere), while Nate awkwardly handed over a poinsettia. Hardison and Parker have been here since ridiculously early this morning, decorating a tree that he's not even sure how they got it up the stairs, and singing off-key carols while he gets the food ready.

When he heads out of the kitchen into the living room, he notices that there's even some presents under the tree.

"Present time now."

Parker is already sitting as close to the tree as she can, literally sitting on her hands while she waits for the others to join in. Eliot shakes his head, but smiles as he sits on the armchair closest to her.

"Go on Parker," Sophie says.

Parker leaps onto her knees and reaches for the largest of the packages and looks at the label. "For Eliot. From all of us."

Eliot looks around at the four pairs of eyes watching him. With a sigh, he takes the package, which is about the size of an A4 book, but a lot lighter, and carefully slides his finger under the tape.

It's a tablet, almost identical to the ones Hardison keeps insisting that they use. He's not as computer illiterate as Hardison insinuates – regularly – but he has no real need for something like this, and he can't help the small pang of disappointment as he realizes that maybe his friends don't know him as well as he thought.

"Just turn it on and stop over-thinking," Hardison chides. "The tablet isn't your present. It's just the only appropriate medium for it."

With a glare, Eliot powers the device on and waits for the main screen to load. There's only one icon on the desktop, with the caption _Click me_ under it. A little intrigued, he taps on the icon and waits.

A window opens up on the screen and Eliot feels like the air has suddenly been sucked out of the room. It's been almost four months since he's seen Jensen, and the only thing he knows is that their team have been in South America somewhere. 

"Hey El. Merry Christmas."

His eyes scan the screen for the pause button so he can just spend a moment looking. Jensen's tired, dark shadows under his eyes that his glasses can't hide. But he's smiling at the camera and there are no obvious injuries, and Eliot can't help thinking that he's never seen a more perfect sight in his life.

"You not speaking to me? That hurts, man."

It's only then that Eliot realizes the true value of the present. This isn't a pre-recorded video. Somehow, impossibly, Hardison has set up a video link. A live video link to the middle of who-knows-where. Just so that Eliot can talk to Jensen.

He's standing up and walking away from the rest of the team even as he smiles at them in thanks. 

"God, I've missed you," he says, barely hearing the indignant shouts from Parker. He brings his fingers up to the screen, remembering the warmth of Jensen's skin. Four months is far too long to be apart. "Merry Christmas."


End file.
